


Darcy Lewis' Guide to Scoring Goals (reason #12 to have sex)

by AvaRosier



Category: Captain America, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - Fandom
Genre: Bucky likes the women's World Cup because it's Real Soccer, F/M, Natasha is Addicted to Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6735067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy has an unexpected guest to her solo women's World Cup Final watching party. Good thing Bucky knows how to be a good guest...especially at halftime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darcy Lewis' Guide to Scoring Goals (reason #12 to have sex)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usedkarma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedkarma/gifts).



The knock on her door comes right before the anthems begin to play and Darcy spits out a curse, nearly tripping over her feet as she rushes towards the door. She isn't expecting anyone and she hopes it won't be too hard to make whomever it is am-scray before the match starts.

  
  


She nearly gasps when she sees who it is, however. Bucky Barnes has his back to her when she swings the door open, and she takes a moment to admire the line of his neck and the thickness of his torso before he turns around. From the front, though, he's pretty much a checklist for what Darcy finds hot. Scruff? Check. Very Fitted Shirt that bulges the tiniest bit over his pecs and arms? Check. Thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, showing off the corded muscles in his forearms, which are visible because he's rolled his shirtsleeves just below his elbows? Check, check, and check!

  
  


“What?” Darcy really doesn't give a damn if she's being rude, even if it's towards the man who frequently stars in her masturbatory fantasies.

  
  


“You usually greet people who knock on your door this way, doll?” His eyes crinkle at the corner slightly when he grins at her and she definitely notices the subtle once-over he's giving her there. Okay, so it's hot and humid in New York and the heat had only recently broke as the sun began to sink closer to the horizon, so Darcy is wearing nothing but a short, thin sundress. And she really does mean nothing but the sundress- no bra, no panties. 

  
  


“I do when they're interrupting the World Cup,” she informs him caustically. That only gets her a snort.

  
  


“Is it an interruption when your guest would like to watch it as well?” Bucky posits, looking mock serious.

  
  


Well...

  
  


Darcy  _is_  a champion multitasker, she can focus on the match while having sexy fantasies about the man next to her, can't she? The Great Pie in the Sky knows she does it all the time whenever she's in the same room as Bucky Barnes. And several other people, to be honest...

  
  


Realizing she's been standing there staring at him like a creeper, Darcy shakes her head and beckons Bucky inside. “Fine. I'll even let you have some of the snacks I made, because I'm nice like that.”

  
  


“Thanks, you're a sweetheart.”

  
  


Bucky does smile then, and the effect is extraordinary, softening his face and making him look more like the James Buchanan Barnes of the black-and-white reels. He brushes past her and Darcy belatedly regrets the lack of a bra because even with the dark blue floral material, her reaction is right there for him to see if he so much as looks. The thought has her half mortified, half eager.

  
  


Ever since Stark Industries had scooped her up in the wake of the collapse of SHIELDRA and her details had been splattered all over digital sundry for any clever criminal to see, Darcy has been living in the Tower and now, for the past few months, so has Bucky. Darcy isn't exactly phased by his notorious past; she's more into deciding whether she likes a person based on how they act now and how they treat her.  So, he isn't exactly a stranger.

  
  


Bucky drops onto the couch and extends his right arm over the back. It's a small one. The couch, that is. In spite of the three cushions, it's barely long enough that Darcy (or Jane or Natasha, when the latter decides to sneak into her apartment for funsies) can sleep on it. Or waste entire Sundays lying there watching the wedding shows on WE.

  
  


What this means, is that she's going to potentially be resting the back of her head against his forearm. “Natalia mentioned you were going to be watching the game and from what I've seen, men's soccer is a cryin' disappointment, so I thought I could at least watch real soccer with a fan.”

  
  


Darcy is already ready to hop on his dick just from those words alone. But, alas...

  
  


“Oh, Natasha mentioned it, did she?” Darcy wasn't born yesterday, she knows all about Natasha's apparent determination to play the Russian-spy version of a Yenta. Just look at the brewing relationship between Steve, Sam, and Sharon.  (Okay, Darcy might have helped Natasha get those three to see the light, but in her defense, it had been pretty fucking obvious and most people needed some assistance to see beyond the usual two-people-to-a-relationship paradigm.)

  
  


“Eh, it's her way of showing she cares,” Bucky shrugs. “And  _that_  is a pretty sweet spread.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the platters of chips and guacamole, queso, hot wings, and the six-pack of beer sitting on her coffee table.

  
  


Now it's Darcy's turn to shrug. “I tend to get worked up when I watch matches like this, it's like I need to keep sticking things into my mouth.” She's cringing as soon as the words spill from her lips. Her double entendre, unintended as it was, nearly makes Bucky choke on the chip he had been chewing. Great, now she's going to be thinking about unzipping those jeans and sucking him off after a goal. The open windows in the living room allow a breeze to come wafting in, making the hem of her dress dance around her mid-thigh and cools the flush of her cheeks.

  
  


The anthems now over, the game starts, saving her from having to dig herself out of that hole. Darcy plunks herself down onto the couch next to Bucky and does her level best to ignore the presence of his hand so close to her neck. Not that it matters much, because barely three minutes in, Carli Lloyd is scoring the first goal of the match and Darcy finds herself jumping up and practically falling off the edge of her seat, screeching with joy.

  
  


When Lloyd scores the second goal a scant two minutes later, Darcy's blood is practically thrumming with excitement. “Oh my Thor, did you see that?  _This_  is why I fangirl so hard over women's soccer. They aren't whiny pissbabies like the men are. They go  _so_  hard because they're out of fucks to give and it gets me  _so fucking hot_.”

  
  


Her voice is on its way to being hoarse from cheering on her national team as if they could hear her through the flatscreen Stark had installed into every apartment in the Tower.

  
  


“I hadn't realized you were such a hardcore fan,” Bucky tells her a few minutes after the second goal, taking another pull of his beer as his eyes twinkle with amusement.

  
  


“My dad and I used to watch the games all the time, I just never stopped even after he died.” It doesn't hurt so much to think about him anymore. Gratefully, Bucky changes the subject and they start talking about the other matches building up to the final. Darcy can't remember the last time she's had more than a cursory conversation with him, but the words flow easily between them.

  
  


She may have gotten nervous and that, combined with the three shots of top-shelf Tequila (Thank you Daddy StarkBucks) for each one of the three goals, makes her a bit tipsy. Instead of a chaser after the shot for Lauren Holiday's goal, Darcy flings her arm around Bucky, practically bouncing onto his lap.

  
  


She doesn't let it become a thing, even after Bucky's arm squeezes around her waist, seemingly wanting to close the circle, but holding back. The naughty knowledge that she's naked underneath her dress only makes the pulsing between her thighs intensify, and Darcy can feel how wet she is, how utterly aware she is of the heat of Bucky's flesh hand through the thin material of her dress. It all flies out of her mind when Carli Lloyd takes a shot from fucking _midfield_ -

  
  


“GOOOAAAL!” Bucky bellows, springing to his feet, and Darcy is jumping on top of the couch, and then into his arms. Panting down at him, Bucky simply smiles back up at her exuberantly.

  
  


“That's one helluva hat-trick.”

  
  


Darcy squeals, her weight still being borne by Bucky's strong arms. “ _I know_! I wanna name my future children after her. Carli Jane or Thor Lloyd have a nice ring to it, dontcha think?” She sighs, her brain-to-mouth filter already gone. Darcy's excuse for what comes out of her mouth next is this: she's in her living room where she's used to not having to censor herself. “The only thing that could be as good as this match is plenty of orgasms.”

  
  


The commentary streaming from the TV is suddenly drowned out by the heavy silence between her and Bucky. Darcy wriggles until she's freed from his hold and settles back down on the couch cushions, feet tucked beneath her and staring ahead so she doesn't have to face him. It seems like forever before Bucky sits back down next to her, and Darcy studiously doesn't look at him- all she can see in her field of vision is how huge his thighs are compared to her pale ones, he's practically bursting out of his jeans- and it's a minute before he actually responds.

  
  


“Okay.”

  
  


Darcy twists on the couch, shocked. Bucky is sitting there absolutely still, with an unreadable face and his metal fingers tensing over the curve of the arm. “Okay...what?”

  
  


“I could help you with that. If you wanted.” She hadn't been hearing things, after all.

  
  


He means it, and Darcy's nerve endings seem to be going haywire. This is it, she's going to actually sleep with Bucky Barnes. She, Darcy Lewis, M.A. In Political Science from Columbia, is going to make fondue with Bucky Barnes.

  
  


“Yeah. That'd be great.”  _Wow, way to seduce him with that line, Lewis_. She scolds herself, but all thought of embarrassment flies out of her head when he turns and stares at her, eyes widening a fraction in surprise. But as soon as it's there, it's gone and he's angling his torso towards her, eyes half-lidded as he moves closer.  

 

He watches her, eyes darting from her lips to her eyes then back to her lips again, trying to assess whether she has any glimmer of self-doubt and wants to back out. Darcy closes the rest of the distance, feeling the warmth of his breath drift over her lips right before she presses them to his in a gentle, chaste kiss. Just that leaves her lips tingling as she pulls back a fraction, eyes closing as she goes back for more. 

 

Now that they've crossed that boundary from desire to reality, Darcy feels free to rest her palms on his pectorals, feeling them flex as Bucky takes this as his green-light to curl his arms around her and pull her closer. He takes more initiative then, slanting his mouth over hers. The rougher pressure is sweet, and Darcy is so turned on she's shaking as she intensifies the kiss, digging her fingers into his shoulders  and swinging her bottom over until she's perched on one thigh, knees tucked against Bucky's left side. The feel of both of his hands- one metal and one flesh- gliding up over the top of her dress to scrape along the skin of her upper back has her pulling away so she can throw her head back and take a deep breath, shuddering at the contrasting sensations.

  
  


Bucky takes advantage of this, ducking down to nuzzle the space where her neck meets her shoulder and the rasp of his beard has her wishing she were straddling him right now so she could rock her cunt over the hard-on she can feel against her hip. Several butterfly-soft kisses up the column of her neck and Bucky's lips are back on hers, coaxing her mouth open so he could brush his tongue along the seam of her lips.

  
  


The need flares up in her, making her skin hot and to channel it all someplace, she nips at Bucky's bottom lip. She's rewarded with a gasp and a discernable reaction in his body. When she laves at the small wound with her tongue, he sighs. Darcy sits back on his lap, trying to get herself under some modicum of control.

  
  


Japan scores a goal and Darcy feels remarkably unconcerned.

  
  


Bucky lowers his hands until they're resting on her lower back, above the curve of her ass. Darcy can't help squirming a bit, then, imagining his reaction to discovering her lack of underwear.

  
  


“What do you want, Darcy?” He asks her, not looking the least bit in a hurry, in spite of the impressive erection making a valiant effort to tent those pants.

  
  


What Darcy wants, is to not censor herself. So she tells him bluntly: “I want to ride your thigh.”

  
  


Watching Bucky's expression as she tells him this, she sees the slow, careful exhale and the widening of his pupils that nearly eclipse the blue of his irises. “I...” he begins, “can definitely do that for you.”

  
  


With that, they're shifting around until he's lying on the couch as much as possible, right leg bent and the left lying straight off the couch. He's tall enough that his booted foot can comfortably rest on the floor. Darcy clambers back on top of him, sliding one leg in between his spread thighs and tucking the other on the outside of his right thigh, along the back of the couch.

  
  


In the past, with her former sex-partners, Darcy had frequently felt self-conscious about her body, as if her curves and her weight would be too much to bother them with. Maybe there's something liberating about thinking ' _he's a supersoldier, he can take it_ ' as she rests her weight on her palms on his chest. His fingers flirt underneath the hem of her dress and she's pretty sure he's getting a nice view of her cleavage.

  
  


“I'm just warning you, I'll probably get your jeans wet,” she informs Bucky as his fingers begin to lightly trace their way up the back of her thighs towards her ass. She wonders if it's just his flesh hand that tells him, or if he can detect the lack of panty-line with his bionic hand. All the same, he groans and closes his eyes for a second.

  
  


“ _Jesus, doll_ ,” he swears. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

  
  


Darcy slaps his chest. “Ugh, never quote Obi Wan like that, that line is a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  
  


“Noted," he grinds out.

  
  


With that, she straddles his thigh fully and does what she's been fantasizing about for the better part of two months. While she rocks herself back and forth along the taut material of his jeans, finally applying pressure against her swollen lips and clit, Bucky squeezes her bare ass cheeks, helping her to grind harder or faster as she wishes. Darcy moans and keeps moving even as she tugs on the elastic top of her dress, pulling her arms out and shoving it down around her waist, exposing her breasts to his gaze.

 

It only makes what she's doing all the more erotic, and Darcy reaffirms what a turn-on it is for her to have the weight of her breasts swaying in the faint breeze with the rhythm of her movements, while Bucky looks up at her with what resembles awe. She could actually come like this, Darcy thinks, canting her hips a little faster. Bucky gasps every so often when her thigh rocks against his erection and in her daze, Darcy is aware of his hands gliding up her back, dancing over her shoulders, and then downwards to cup her breasts, toying with the nipples.

 

He gives them a playful pinch before covering them once again. The metal hand is still cooler than the other, and the temperature differential is exciting her in ways she could not have imagined whenever she used the thought to get herself off. Distantly, she hears the buzzer that announces halftime and opens her eyes to stare down at the man beneath her.

 

“Bucky,” she groans, pleading.

  
  


“It's alright, darlin'. I got you. C'mere.” HE tells her with surprising tenderness. She barely registers his intention when he sticks two fingers from his right hand into his mouth and sucks noisily before releasing them with a pop, all shiny with saliva. Then he's placing those slicked up fingers in between their bodies. Darcy practically bucks against his hand, reaching down to clutch at his forearm as she encourages him to slide his fingers up into her cunt.

 

He does and her eyes fly shut as she squeezes her inner muscles around the welcome intrusion. “Go on,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice low near her ear. “Fuck yourself on them. Lemme see you come.” He braces his thumb against her clit and she's off, fucking herself on those thick fingers until one well-timed swipe of his thumb has her flying apart and coming in hard waves.

 

He's telling her things, sweet things that have her continuing to move until the last of the contractions taper off and she feels ready to open her eyes and look down at him. He's smirking, the ass, and if he hadn't just given her an amazing orgasm, Darcy would punch him in the arm (the flesh one, of course, she doesn't want to break her knuckles.)

  
  


“You know, we still have ten minutes of half-time and I did say I would give you multiple orgasms...” he lets the offer hang, fingers still inside her and no apparent rush to unsheath them.

  
  


“Well, what are you waiting for, soldier? Take me to my room and fuck me properly.”

  
  


“Aye, aye, ma'am.” He winks at her and lifts her against him as he springs off of the couch, walking them towards her bedroom.

  
  


Sex with Bucky Barnes?

 

_Abso-lutely ah-mazing._

 

Granted, they’re buoyed by that ‘first time’ rush compounded by the burgeoning sexual attraction they’ve had for months. But he kisses her senseless and slips his hands beneath her dress until she’s a puddle of want. Darcy gets them both stark naked by the time Bucky has her sprawled on her back across the haphazardly-made bed.

 

It’s all so terribly intense when Bucky cups her face in his hand and watches her intently as he experiments with the angle of his thrusts. When her moans and exclaims increase in pitch, he begins to drill her into the mattress relentlessly, muscles clenched with the effort of staving off his own orgasm,until she’s coming apart around him.

 

Darcy comes so hard she thinks she sees the rainbow bridge itself.

  
  


The bastard is confident he can make her come again, but makes her wait until after the second half of the match. Which, she's not going to begrudge him some food to refuel because boy howdy, she had seen and felt those muscles of his- in his abdomen, his arms, his thighs, his fucking _ass_ \- shifting and contracting like a work of art as he fucked her.

  
  


But sitting there on the couch with her vagina tingling and every nerve ending aware, as the top half of her dress makes a valiant effort to stay up over her breasts, and the faint hum of arousal never far away...that was a whole other level of torture Darcy was sure she herself had just discovered.

  
  


It just makes the USA women's team's victory all the more amazing because then she could plunk her empty beer bottle down, wriggle her hips until her dress pools around her feet, and saunter back into her bedroom with every expectation that Bucky would follow.

 

And he does, whistling a tune as he strolls through the open doorway.

 

 

 

The next morning, after yet another toe-curling orgasm, Darcy presides over the breakfast cooking on the stove. Bucky’s in the shower, so she picks up her phone and starts tapping out a message to Natasha. She's pretty sure the spy had stayed over at her girlfriend's apartment and wouldn't be back at the Tower to pester Darcy until around lunchtime, but this absolutely could not wait.

 

**Darcy:** _I had sex with Bucky. I even lost count of how many orgasms he gave me._

**Natasha:** _You know, I barely had to expel any effort where you two were concerned. Frankly, I'm a bit insulted. How was it?_

**Natasha:** _On a scale from one to ten_

**Darcy:** _Twenty-seven.  My toes cramped, it was that good._

**Natasha:** _Good. You needed it._

**Natasha:** _*peach emoji* *eggplant emoji*_

**Darcy:** _And then when we got up this morning after he made me come again, he MADE THE BED. Corners tucked in and all. *screamy emoji*_

**Natasha:** _If you don't continue this after today, I will hunt you both down._

**Darcy:** _I’m making him bacon and pancakes. I'll go down on him after and there's no way he's not coming back for more._

**Natasha:** _I’ve taught you well, grasshopper._

 


End file.
